Firewhiskey
by Tan Kimiko
Summary: [DMHG] Who would've thought that drinking firewhiskey and passing out in the arms of a black-clad man would bring Hermione the love of her life?


**Harry Potter© J.K. Rowling, (publishers including but not limited) Scholastic Books, Bloomsbury Books, Raincoast Books, Warner Bros Inc.**

Note: The whole story is in Hermione's POV.

**Firewhiskey **

"One bottle of firewhiskey, please."

Firewhiskey—the best thing there is to throw yourself into oblivion. From what little I know of Muggle whiskey, it's one of the strongest liquor that can make a drinker drunk in several water glasses. This wizard firewhiskey was almost the same, except it was stronger than whiskey itself. It can make a professional drinker pass out in two full goblets.

It got its name from the feeling of something very hot sliding on one's throat, like tongues of fire flicking out to touch the inner body. I remembered the first time I drank this wizard liquor, and it was on the day that we won against Voldemort. More grown-up people passed around several wine-shaped bottles and they popped the cork out of sheer joy. I was standing more closely in the middle, sharing this joy with several Hogwarts batchmates.

A small glass was pushed into my hand and I automatically drank it when I realized everyone was doing it. Well, everyone older than I am, at least. I clamped down an urge to shout when I felt fire burning its way down my throat and made me immediately feel lightheaded. It was next morning; waking up in my bedroom with the same filthy, bloodied robes I was in just last night that I finally realized I drunk firewhiskey. I swore never to drink a single drop again.

Until now.

The bartender was looking oddly at me with a hint of sympathy before he went to fetch the bottle for me. Firewhiskey was my only escape from all of this. What "all of this", you ask? Maybe about my God-forsaken life as an Auror, seeing more dead people—mangled, battered or severed—than ever in my life. I could actually know their story, just seeing how their bodies were torn into shreds. I can't stand it.

Or maybe it's my lack of love life, as Ginny love to point out every now and then. Many people thought that I'd end up with either Harry Potter or Ron Weasley. They couldn't be more wrong. Harry and I never really had anything other than base friendship, while Ron and I never got along well enough to know what would happen if we did. Sad to say, I've never had any suitors or dates, much less a boyfriend. I've never been kissed and I've never jumped into bed with any man in an intimate sort-of way.

Or maybe because I'm born Hermione Granger, Muggle witch, smartest witch in Hogwarts since Minerva McGonagall? Many people depend on me for advice or help for their problems. I'd like to shout at them, to tell them I had problems of my own that I needed to solve, but I couldn't, because I can't turn them away. Sometimes, I hate myself because I let other people use me.

The bottle I ordered and a champagne glass appeared through my line of vision. A dark-clad man sat down beside me by the bar and ordered some shots. I poured a drink to myself, half filling it. The color of firewhiskey was almost liquid gold.

It's been many years since we graduated from Hogwarts and the start of the war. It's been so long that I can't say the exact years without counting. We all believed in happily ever after, after the war ended. We learned the hard way that nobody can grasp that perfect ending in life.

Harry was supposed to marry Cho Chang after the war, because his infatuation with her never ended. That affection ended when he caught her in bed, naked, intimately sprawled on top of the bed beneath Terry Boot three hours before the wedding was supposed to take place. That incident turned Harry into a cynical, jaded man who took women for pleasure then threw them away. He was so different from before that I had a hard time believing it if I didn't hear of it from him myself.

Harry was a rich man now, and he could have any woman because of his name, looks or his wealth. Before I went on to my last Auror mission, Ginny told me she was still in love with Harry and was going to try for his heart. The last I heard, Ginny was slowly winning Harry's marriage-wary heart.

Ron, however, reached his happily ever after, until tragedy ripped that from him. He married Lavender Brown. I was in the wedding as a secondary sponsor and I could see that they were so terribly in love. That time, I thought, how happy Ron is! He finally found the happy ending we've all been wishing for. A year after their marriage, Lavender announced that she was pregnant. Nine months later, she gave birth to a beautiful girl and named her Violet. The price of Violet's life was Lavender's.

From what Parvati, Lavender's best friend, told me, Lavender had a complication during birth that none of the mediwitches even managed to learn until it was too late. As she lay on the bed giving birth, she gave it all for her child to be born. When Lavender heard that her daughter was all right, she died, leaving Ron and her new daughter.

I heard the news of Lavender's death when I was in Turkey, wrapping up my report of my latest Auror mission. I immediately Apparated to St. Mungo's and found Ron unable to show his emotions, except the steady trickle of tears down his face. Harry was trying desperately to reach him while Ginny was calming Parvati down, who was then having a grief attack.

I insisted to see Lavender and when I did, I broke down at the serene, sad smile on her white face. Serene, because she was happy her daughter lived, sad because she regretted ever leaving Ron and Violet in the first place. I cried for days even after Lavender's burial.

Violet has grown into a pretty little girl with her mother's features. But she needed a mother to guide her, and I knew the perfect woman to fill the space. Luna Lovegood was always in the sidelines, waiting patiently and longingly for Ron to open up his heart again to love.

I realized that I downed three champagne glass of firewhiskey, and I was feeling fuzzy and dizzy. A dark shadow came over me just as I was about to pass out. I was never really a drinker. I suddenly felt warm and protected, carried by strong arms and a hard chest. I regretted drinking now, because I wasn't sober enough to fight for myself. The loud music of the bar helped keep me awake, but as I was carried out and silence reigned, I finally slid into the oblivion I was craving for.

* * *

When I woke up the next morning, I felt awful. My head was pounding like a jackhammer was prying my skull open. My vision was still slightly blurry. My mind wasn't trying to remember anything except for me to hurry to the bathroom before I retch on the carpet.

After my appointment with the toilet, I washed my face with cold water, trying to erase the mist covering my memories from my head. All I could remember was ordering firewhisky in the bar, thinking to drown myself into unconsciousness—which, I did—and then waking up in my room. Now, how did I get to my apartment?

I stepped out of the bathroom and reeled back with shock. I wasn't in my cozy apartment with homey furnishings. Everything seemed neat and top-notched. I was in a hotel. When I finally saw the name—Cleopatra's Den—my suspicions were correct. Not only was the hotel a wizard's hotel, it was one of the most expensive in Europe. I stood there, stunned, looking around me and finally feeling the soft carpet beneath my feet. Whoever brought me here left me with a very large bill.

My clothes from last night were hanging carefully on a chair. I could tell it was washed and pressed. I wasn't exactly naked, but in my terms, I was indecent. The nightgown was made of cotton and lace, and the sheer transparency of it was so pronounced that I could even see the color of my skin beneath the cloth and the outline of my knickers.

Quickly, I took a bath, washing away the reek of smoke from cigars and the smell of liquor from my body. I dried my hair and brushed it, dressing myself in record time. I went to the front desk to pay for my room and found out it was already fully paid, with a complementary breakfast to go along with it. I was shocked to say the least.

"Who paid for me?" I asked dumbly.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but we do not divulge information. We were sworn to silence when you arrived last night." He replied, shaking his head. "He was a good-looking man, though."

"Did he go up the room with me? Did he…did he change my clothes?" I could barely get the last sentence out due to embarrassment.

"He did go to the room to carry you to bed, but he paid for a female house elf to change you." He told me. Relief poured in but I knew I couldn't get any more out of him. Although, there was a little sparkle behind his eyes as he watched me leave. Oh, he was amused with the situation, all right.

Trying to discover the identity of my generous savior, I went to the bar and was lucky to find the bartender who served me last night. This one was quite talkative, and vastly relieved to see me well and untouched.

"I wondered when you'd come back, lass." He said in a slight Scottish accent. "Name's Jacob McRye. See you're doing mighty well."

"Yes, thanks. One butterbeer." I ordered. "Don't worry, I won't get drunk again." I assured him when he looked skeptically at me. When he returned a few moments later with one full mug, I immediately asked him of the man who took care of me last night.

Jacob scratched his bearded chin. "Right. That lad. Well, you talked pretty deep with him last night that it melted that ice on his eyes, you did." He said while nodding his head as if affirming. "When you passed out, he carried you up, see, and paid for your drink. Never try firewhiskey again, lass." He warned.

"No more firewhiskey," I promised.

He looked firmly assured. "He told me you two were friends from school and promised to take care of you and not harm you. Took you to a fancy little inn, didn't he?"

"Just about. I woke up in Cleopatra's Den."

Jacob whistled. "Mighty rich, that lad."

I leaned forward. "But do you remember his features? His face, perhaps?"

He looked insulted. "Of course I did. I'm not old yet. He looked about your age, tall and pale skin. He had white hair—well, not really. Maybe silver. His eyes were cold, clearly gray. But you melted something in those eyes, lassie. It went all soft when he looked at you." His head was nodding again.

I gasped and hissed at the same time. I wondered if I could ever do that again.

The man he described was clearly Draco Malfoy.

* * *

Since that day, I returned to the bar every night, wishing for Draco Malfoy to appear. I was waiting for him, spending all of my available time inside. I got to know Jacob better. We were on first name basis, but he still called me "lass" or "lassie" from time to time. He rarely called me by my given name.

I was hoping a happily ever after…with Malfoy. Surely, something was wrong in that picture, but I knew it was the right thing. During the war, when we were assigned as leaders of the second attack team, we got along fine after a rocky start. We even talked sometimes, ate together and shared stories and experiences. It was now, years later that I realized the feelings I carried back then was actually love.

I love Malfoy and damn anyone who tells me otherwise.

But I couldn't stay all the time. When I was in a mission, I Apparated back here for a few minutes of my breaks, ordering a quick drink from Jacob before disappearing after sitting down for ten minutes. I was that desperate to see him, risking even a few precious moments of rest. He never appeared to me again.

It was a month and a half later that I finally began to lose hope. If he wanted to contact me, he would. He knew but he deliberately didn't. After three months since that night, patiently waiting and hope thinning that I admitted defeat and nearly broke down. Again, I ordered the drink, which brought me into this God-forsaken waiting in the first place.

"One bottle of firewhiskey, please," I muttered.

Jacob opened his mouth to berate me, thought better of it and went to get the bottle. This time, however, it was smaller and the glass was the size of an inkbottle. Peeved, I glared at Jacob, who glared back, trying to get me to drop the thought of even drinking the blasted liquor. I shrugged, opened a bottle and poured myself a drink.

I just got a sip in before the glass zoomed away from my hand. Surprised, I glanced at the direction the glass went to and inhaled sharply. Gazing at me with heated intensity was Draco himself. In his right hand was his wand. In the other was the glass.

"I thought you learned your lesson about drinking, Hermione." He drawled out, placing the glass on the bar just out of my reach and firmly told Jacob to take away the firewhiskey. He happily obliged.

"That was my drink!" I complained. "You have no right to do that!"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Come on, Hermione, I don't have to hear this. I don't want you spilling your guts to every person you meet when get drunk. You aren't even in a stable mind when you drink a glass of the stuff."

"I spilled my guts?" I sputtered out.

He nodded and smirked. "'Harry found Chang in bed.' 'Ron grieved for Lavender.' 'Luna is waiting for Ron to notice her.' 'Ginny is trying to make Harry love her.' That about sums that conversation up."

Heat warmed my cheeks. I can't believe I said that out loud. "You mean I wasn't thinking it? I was _actually_ talking about it to a complete stranger?"

"Hey, do I look like a stranger to you?" Draco demanded.

"No, but I thought you're a stranger, didn't I?"

"Of course you did. You were too drunk to even notice your surroundings. You couldn't even defend yourself against me." He said.

I covered my face with both hands. "Oh, Merlin…" I moaned.

Draco sighed. "Hey, it's okay. No problem." He told me, trying to pry away my hands.

"I love you!" I cried out.

Visible tension. I was totally happy the bar was empty at this time of the day or I could've embarrassed myself again.

"W-What?" He finally asked.

I'm on a roll. I couldn't stop now. God help me.

"I love you! Ever since that time we were team leaders. That was years ago, wasn't it? A long, long time ago but I still remembered every moment we shared. We talked about things and I had this really weird feeling that I would always be safe with you. That was why I didn't even try to fight you that night I got drunk. I felt safe, comforted and warm. I couldn't explain it."

"Hermione—"

"Don't interrupt!" I all but shouted.

He kept silent.

"Did you know I waited for you at this same bar every night that I could come so to see you again? I lost hope when you didn't come. I was so unhappy. I couldn't take it anymore. Pressure and waiting for you got to me. I nearly broke my promise to Jacob to not drink firewhiskey anymore!"

"Who's Jacob?"

"The bartender. I thought I told you not to interrupt!"

Draco raised both hands. "Sorry. Don't get so worked up about it."

"And then you come when it's not even nighttime! If I knew, I could've gone here every afternoon!" I yelled, finally breaking down. Everything was falling into place and it was leaving me wretchedly confused. Pouring my soul out was exhausting.

He kept his gaze at me until he let out a deep sigh and a softly muttered curse. I knew then from his expression that he was going to reject me. It was spelled all over his face. I kept the tears in check as his mouth opened to say the harshest words I knew I was going to receive from anyone in my entire life.

* * *

"One bottle of firewhiskey, please," I ordered dully, plopping down on the chair of the bar.

Jacob frowned. "Now, lassie," He started.

"Please, Jacob. The bottle."

He couldn't talk me out of it. In defeat, he placed down the wine-size bottle and a glass of ice. I screwed open the cork and poured the gold liquid into the glass, watching as the ice moved and clinked on the glass.

It was a year and four months after that fateful day when I confessed my feelings to Draco Malfoy. Memories was still freshly etched into my mind and I went to the bar every night since then. It was now part of my nightly ritual.

I raised the glass to my lips. Before I could even sip one drop, the glass disappeared into thin air. I knew who it was before I even turned without anyone saying anything. I was forcefully turned and came face-to-face with Draco, who had a scowl on his face.

"Woman, how many times have I told you not drink any of that stuff? You are forbidden to even drink butterbeer!" He scolded me, his grip tight.

"Draco, darling, your hands hurt," I informed him calmly, trying to soothe him. On my left hand, a gold band with small diamonds encircling it adorned my ring finger. A similar band was on Draco's left ring finger. I knew, without taking the ring off, the inscriptions delicately written inside: Dragon and Lioness, Forever. It was Draco's idea.

He groaned, pulling me hard into his embrace. "You're going to do anything to drive me insane with worry, aren't you?" Draco asked, his voice muffled with his head buried in my hair.

"Of course I am. I'm your wife, after all."

Draco pushed me into arm's length, frowning fiercely. "Hermione, are you mocking me or did you deliberately forget that you're pregnant with our child, hmm?"

I blinked up at him innocently. "I'm pregnant?"

"Merlin, I'm already at your mercy. Don't twist my guts any tighter."

I laughed, hugging him. "I love you, Draco."

Draco and I had a short engagement of five months. What I thought was rejection was actually a confession, if you think it that way. It was sort of vague with a little bit of Malfoy twist, but I understood. We were married in a simple church wedding to please my parents. Ginny Potter was my maid-of-honor and Blaise Zabini was Draco's best man. Harry was beaming proudly up at me, his green eyes no longer hard as he watched his little son, Michael, walk down the aisle holding the wedding rings on a satin pillow. Violet was my one and only flower girl. Ron and Luna gazed at her in parental pride. Luna was holding a baby in her arms. Ryan Weasley was the new addition to the family.

With warm gray eyes, he scooped me into his arms and I automatically twined my arms around his neck. "I love you, too, Mrs. Malfoy." Draco growled. "I'll pay the bottle tomorrow night, Jacob." He told the bartender.

"Yeah, sure." Jacob grinned happily.

"Let's say we go home." Draco suggested.

I cuddled into his hold. "Why, husband, that's a wonderful idea."

We Disapparated. Guess where we ended up?

**The End**

Author's Notes: I never thought I'd write a Harry Potter fic, although I've been reading lots of DM/HG fics since I read superscar's _Hermione Malfoy_. This is my first HP fanfic, so please give me reviews and comments on how I'm faring. I'm planning on writing other HP fanfics, mostly DHr. My e-mail's

Oh, and why firewhiskey? I don't know. I'll tell you if I have the answer.


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